A gorgeous gloom became her so she passed the time translating pain into prose.
She dresses the wound clumsily with white Chantilly lace, smiles back black tears, and lets herself grow accustomed.
She doesn’t believe she deserves this.
Chaos and coincidence govern this world, regardless of whether it lines up with one’s personal beliefs.
Even she knows that.
Blackened glasses had been coloring her world for too long. Under his spell, they were replaced with a refreshing rosy tint that she can almost taste. He’s certainly got a way about him; steadfast in your decisions, artful in your execution– how does he do that? She wouldn’t have believed a damn word if she didn’t personally recognize the nature of his hunger.
Intrigued, she allowed her gaze to linger… longer… and to count the ways it felt different this time. If you were seeing her, then she was seeing you. It was simple. Clean. The heart wants to be swept away; indeed it exists for this sole purpose. But the mind! Her marshal, it seduces with whispers of statistics and generic generalizations to her stylite soul. It gives her no rest.
Who’s really in charge here anyway? She may quiet voice for 20 minutes or so at a time, but therein lies the unspeakable unknown, embedded in the threading of a warm blanket of blankness.
Darling, altruist, his love left her with synesthesia. His scent was familiar but she couldn’t place it. Holding his gaze made her body hum like the upswing of a symphony. His kiss was like the first sip of pure vodka after a long, sober year. He was too good and kind and precious for a wretch like her, she knew it then and she knows it now.
